


RXR

by YukiSkyes



Category: Durarara!!, 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Hopefully it'll be a wild ride, Post-Guild Arc (Bungou Stray Dogs), Season 2 Durarara, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-10-11 08:04:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17443055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YukiSkyes/pseuds/YukiSkyes
Summary: Ikebukuro's strongest arrives in Yokohama on the trail of a debtor, a certain information dealer is up to his usual no good, a girl in search of answers is accompanied by a detective escort, rookies stumbling about the city, and powerful members of the mafia in a frothing search. Dear oh dear.





	1. Heiwajima Shizuo

The moment Shizuo makes it out of the crowded train station, he lights a cigarette and blows out a cloud of smoke in relief.

Tom insisted he didn’t need to chase the debtor this far, but he wants to do this to make up for some of the past grievances he brought to Tom and his employer if only a little. Besides, they can’t have people start thinking that just because they skip town, they skip their debts too.

He glances at the tall buildings that surround him and the bustle of people in front of him.

Yokohama. He can’t say he’s ever been here before, or much of anywhere outside of Ikebukuro for that matter. He’s heard rumors, though, about how a mafia runs the entire place and how there are people with weird powers. Well, it looks normal so far. The scenery is different from Ikebukuro, but it’s still all the same.

He takes out a wrinkled piece of memo paper out of his pocket with the address of the debtor’s relative, Kanzaki Hayate, written in Tom’s neat handwriting. Honestly, the debtor may not be there, but after exhausting all of his buddies’ houses, it can’t hurt to drop by and see. Shizuo just hopes this guy doesn’t live too far from the station. He doesn’t exactly have the money for cab fare.

He stands to the side, watching several people rush by before stopping a guy strolling past, humming with his hands in the pockets of his trench coat.

“’Scuse me, can you tell me directions to this address?”

Shizuo holds up the paper and the man leans closer, fingers to his chin.

“Hmm? Let’s see, let’s see… Ah, this is about a thirty minute walk from here.” He points behind himself. “Just walk straight for five blocks, turn right, go straight six blocks, turn left, and keep going until you get there!”

Go five blocks, turn… where?

Shizuo frowns.

The guy lets out a short laugh and takes out a pen from his pocket before holding out his hand. Shizuo gives over the paper.

“Ah…” The guy glances around before smiling at him. “Let me borrow your back for a second.”

“My back?”

The guy motions for him to turn around and confused, Shizuo complies. It’s only when he feels a slight, almost ticklish pressure that he realizes he’s being used as a writing surface.

“Don’t worry, it’ll just be a feeew seconds,” the guy says as the sensation of the pen scribbles furiously across his back. “Just a little more… aaand… done!”

Shizuo turns around and takes the paper offered to him.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“No problem!” the guy chirps. He walks away, waving as he says, “Enjoy Yokohama!”

Shizuo nods and checks the paper. The directions are a bit messy but still legible.

He sets off towards the address, meandering through the unfamiliar streets. He only gets confused once before he arrives at the apartment complex in which the debtor’s relative lives forty-five minutes later.

It’s a pretty neat and tidy place. It’s nowhere near similar to his own beat-down complex but it’s also nothing like the more upscale building of Shinra’s place. A happy middle.

Shizuo takes the elevator to the fourth floor, finds the nameplate and door number he’s looking for, and knocks.

Now that he thinks about it, unless his guy is stupid enough to answer the door, wouldn’t the person living here be getting ready for work? It’s still pretty early in the morning but what if they left already?

Shizuo scratches the back of his head.

Well, shit. He _can_ wait, but he has to make it to the station in time for the last train back to Ikebukuro. He doesn’t exactly have a place to stay overnight.

He scratches harder and sucks his teeth.

Crap, he really didn’t think this through. If only the debtor paid his fucking dues like he’s supposed to, Shizuo wouldn’t even have to be here. You return what you borrow and if you can’t, don’t borrow anything. It’s fucking common sense and yet these assholes act like chickens with their heads cut off when he and Tom drop by to collect and he’s getting _real_ fucking tired of all these stupid bullshit hoops he has to jump through just to—

The door cracks open and Shizuo stops.

A sharply dressed man in a suit with chestnut hair in a crew cut looks at him with an unimpressed frown. Must be Kanzaki.

“Can I help you?” he asks coolly.

“Yeah, you the relative of…” Shizuo digs out the paper with the address and flips it to the back where the debtor’s name is written in the same clean handwriting. “Tanaki Itou? He owes money.”

Kanzaki scowls.

“Don’t know who that is.”

He begins to shut the door but Shizuo grabs the edge before it can close, fingers leaving indents in the metal.

“Are you lying?” Shizuo growls, leaning into his face with narrowed eyes.

Kanzaki’s gaze darts briefly to his hand, frowning even harder, before asking, “Do you have proof that I’m _not_ lying?”

Metal groans as Shizuo grips the door tighter to match how hard he’s gritting his teeth. He fucking hates, hates, _hates_ these fucking games.

“You have five fucking seconds before I—”

“He’s not here,” Kanzaki interrupts loudly.

There’s a click and Shizuo looks down at the gun pressed against his stomach.

He’s threatening him? _He’s threatening him?_

A vein snaps in his temple.

“Now lea—”

Shizuo grabs the gun, yanks it out of the fucker’s hand, wads it up into a ball in front of the bastard’s face, and throws it into the ground next to his feet, leaving a small crater.

Kanzaki tries to flee back into his apartment, but Shizuo rips the door from its hinges with a guttural snarl and hurls it.

Kanzaki barely ducks the door with a cry as it flies along the hall and crashes with a boom into the room beyond, demolishing part of it along with the doorway leading into it.

Shizuo stomps over and yanks the bastard up to meet his eyes, fist balling tightly in his shirt to prevent it from balling into his face.

“Is. Tanaki. Itou. Here?” he grinds out, his entire body aching with the tension to punch the asshole’s light out.

Kanzaki shakes his head frantically and Shizuo tosses him. He skids along the wooden floor before coming to a stop by smashing head-first into the mess at the end with a shout of pain. To his credit, he’s pale and trembling but not pissing his pants.

Shizuo stalks away, heat still burning in his chest like an itch.

He tosses his spent cigarette on the ground outside the apartment and grinds it out before lighting another one as he makes his way to the elevators. He inhales the faintly bitter but flavorful smoke, lets it linger in his lungs, and waits for the chemicals to tamp the itch.

He enters the elevator, presses the button for ground level, and crosses his arms, finger tapping a rapid beat at the crook of his elbow.

So that’s a bust. What now?

The elevator dings as it reaches ground floor and Shizuo steps out, sliding his hands in his pockets.

Guess he’ll look around the streets nearby. Gotta start somewhere, he supposes.


	2. Orihara Izaya

Walking down the narrow hallway leading to the office of Port Mafia’s very own boss, Izaya can’t help but marvel at the audacity. While he’s been invited to many places by many people, he can’t say he’s ever dealt with a mafia so high profile that they can call the five tallest, most obvious buildings in the entire city their headquarters complete with a mailing address and phone number.

Then again, Izaya has never heard of a legal mafia either. It’s crazy and ludicrous but that’s what makes it oh-so interesting.

He grins, and skips a step.

Now what is the man behind all this like?

He reaches the large glossy mahogany double doors at the end where two burly bodyguards stand at attention.

“Orihara Izaya.”

The men step aside and open the doors with a creak.

The room is bright with the floor-to-ceiling windows taking up a majority of the left wall, showing off just how lavish and stately the office is; truly, a perfect den for a snake that’s swallowed any and every opportunity that presented itself and now lies about glutted.

“Welcome, Orihara-kun,” Mori Ougai greets with a welcoming smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” He gestures to the plush chair across his large desk. “Please, sit.”

Mori is perfectly inscrutable, relaxed and poised down to the way his elbows rest on the desk, fingers knit together; a king comfortable on his bloody throne. He’s played this game before, his politely interested expression says.

“I’ve heard some things about you too,” Izaya says, wandering to the window instead. Such a nice view of the city. It reminds him of his own office. Does Mori stand here sometimes to enjoy the sight of people scurrying to his whims? Or maybe he likes to take in what he owns from time to time. “How beautiful.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Mori agrees mildly, indulgent; a man who’s used to taking his time and commanding the world to move under his feet rather than walking the ground. “It’s especially beautiful at night.”

Izaya hums. Small talk bores him and he gives it up.

He makes his way to the chair and sits down, one leg over the other, before steepling his fingers.

“Now then,” Mori continues resting his hands on the desk, “I hate to get down to business so quickly without so much as offering tea, but I’d like your services in investigating who had stolen one of our shipments.”

Izaya tilts his head with a grin in a deliberately curious motion.

“Oh? While I’m always happy to help, I have to say, I’m surprised that you’d call me out of Shinjuku rather than using your own resources.”

Mori heaves a despondent sigh.

“As much as I didn’t want to resort to this, our shipment disappeared around Ikebukuro and as much influence as I have, my reach only extends so far. It’s all rather troubling.”

Doubtful, but who is Izaya to point out the lie if the boss of Port Mafia wishes to meet him?

“Ah, so you decided to bring on someone who knows that place intimately,” Izaya finishes with a firm note of understanding.

“Yes, that is exactly so,” Mori says, nodding. “I’ve heard you have extensive roots all over that region. I’m willing to pay any amount you wish if you can find the culprit. I’ll give you an advance deposit of a fourth of the total.”

 “Hmm, I usually charge fifty million yen for this kind of job, but as a first-time client in another city, I’ll give a special discount of thirty million. How does that sound?”                                                                             

Mori parts his hands in affected gratefulness.

“My, how generous of you!”

Izaya shrugs carelessly. The money isn’t what he’s really interested in anyway.

“It’s only business.” He watches the mannerly way Mori holds himself, the air of demureness contrasting with the slightly too-sharp edges at the corner of his lips and the fixed gaze beneath lidded eyes. Izaya smirks. “Something I’m sure you’re very familiar with.”

Mori chuckles low in his throat and there’s some genuine amusement in it.

“That I am. Now, I’m afraid I can’t divulge much information about the exact route or method of delivery, only the general idea. I recognize it’ll make your work harder, but I hope you understand that it’s for security purposes. We must protect ourselves as well as our clients.”

Izaya inclines his head in agreement.

“Very noble of you.”

Mori waves the compliment away.

“As you yourself know, it’s simply good business practice. Our products were contained in a rather large, brown leather suitcase with two combination locks. Retrieving it is unnecessary. Only knowing the culprit is enough.”

“Alright.”

After hashing out a few more details, including the location the briefcase disappeared and the circumstances around it among other things, Izaya stands from his chair with a stretch.

“I’ll give periodic updates every other day or so but for now, I think I’ll do a little sightseeing while I’m here.”

Mori beams with a clap of his hands.

“What a splendid idea! Yokohama has many interesting places to visit! It never hurts to take the time to enjoy everything it has to offer! Personally, I recommend the promenade. It’s a wonderful and relaxing place to go for fresh air and good scenery. If you’d like, I can have someone show you around.”

“No, I think I’ll take a look around by myself. There’s a charm in wandering somewhere unfamiliar by yourself, don’t you think?” he replies, stepping backwards from the chair. “Thanks for the offer though.”

He turns with a swish of his coat.

“Ah, Orihara-kun, just one last thing.”

Izaya pauses and twists his neck around to look over his shoulder.

Mori’s smile is a stretch of his mouth and nothing more.

“As the one who invited you here, I feel obligated to warn you of the dangers of this city. While Port Mafia is the biggest force, it’s far from the only one to contend with. Still, Yokohama is a relatively stable city so while I encourage you to have fun during your stay, I also encourage you to be very careful.”

His tone is casual, pleasant even. Izaya keeps his own smile loose and relaxed as the bubbles of hysterical mirth presses hard against his ribcage and quickens his heartbeat, making him feel like he’s soaring on an updraft of elated thrill.

Mori is an interesting character indeed. A mafia boss in love with the city he extorts! Brilliant!

“Thanks for the advance warning.”

He hums as he strolls down the hall, passing a short redhead who watches him with narrowed eyes from under the brim of his hat.

Hmm, must be a high-ranking member to walk through here so casually.

Izaya responds with a cordial smile.

The redhead scrunches his face like he smells garbage. It’s oddly familiar and Izaya’s shoulders shake with soundless mirth.

Oops, looks like he’s already hated.

He can barely keep still through the long elevator ride down and once the doors open, he skips through the lobby and out the building.

Now then…

He takes out his phone and starts scrolling through the contacts.

He strides through the crowd, purposeful enough that people part around him even with his attention wholly on the screen in front of him.

He turns a corner and swerves just in time to avoid colliding with someone, bumping into their arm instead.

“Whoops—”

“Sor—”

He looks up to a pair of stunned eyes hidden behind blue-purple tinted sunglasses.

Ash crumbles off the end of a cigarette.

“Ah,” they utter in unison.


	3. Nakajima Atsushi

Atsushi lets out a long, tired breath as he sags against the brick wall at his back. A few feet away to his left, Kyouka presses herself against the glass of the show window, staring intently at the stuffed animals on display.

He smiles faintly in her direction and asks, “Do you want to go inside and take a look?”

Kyouka shakes her head and peels away from the window.

“No, we should finish investigating the area first,” she replies, though one of her palms remains glued to the glass.

Atsushi goes over to her and looks at the display as well. It’s very beautifully done with the plush toys arranged artistically on round wooden stands decorated with lace and ribbon and elegant glass figurines of swans.

“Well, we’re only looking for a missing cat and there’s no real rush. I’m sure we can take a short break before searching again.”

Kyouka chews her lip as she stares longingly at a large fluffy brown bunny before shaking her head and stepping away from the window.

“No… the boy looking for Tami is waiting.”

Atsushi wants to insist that it’s okay to do something for herself once in a while, but Kyouka is already walking away, stopping only to look over her shoulder at him in question.

He glances at the shop name, committing it and its location to memory, before hurrying to catch up to her.

“Let’s go check out the area over there,” Atsushi says, pointing to the right of an intersection ahead.

Kyouka nods and moves along half a step by his side. She has such a silent presence that Atsushi sometimes forgets she’s there if he’s sufficiently distracted and he gets startled when she makes herself known again. It’s happened enough times that Atsushi suspects she partly does it on purpose for his reaction.

They come up to the crosswalk and wait amongst the other pedestrians for the light to turn green.

A commotion that sounds distantly like screaming accompanied by intermittent crashing from behind perks Atsushi’s ears and he only begins to notice a growing shadow under his feet before he’s yanked to the side hard enough for his arm to ache.

Atsushi stumbles and falls when a thunderous boom sends tremors through the ground under his feet.

“Are you okay?” Kyouka asks, urgency bleeding into her quiet voice as she helps Atsushi up.

“Y-yeah,” he manages to stammer out, heart hammering in his ears.

He trails his gaze to the spot he’d been standing. A vending machine now occupies the space in the crater of its landing.

The air fills with the squeal of tires, the smash of collisions, and the blare of horns, almost drowning out the shrill screams of the dozens of people running in a panicked stampede away from the direction of the vending machine’s flight.

Atsushi exchanges a brief glance with Kyouka before rushing against the flow towards the epicenter of the storm.

As they draw closer, the crashes grow in deafening volume and the destruction grows more prominent.

They pass a smashed café storefront through which a destroyed stone planter sits spilling soil.  A sign post blurs through the air overhead, which Atsushi ducks with a yelp. Thankfully, he doesn’t see any bodies or anyone lying injured despite the violence.

The cars on the street are gridlocked together, a destroyed vehicle crushes the top of two others like it’d been thrown there, and in the distance of the now deserted street is a tall blond man in a bartending suit uprooting a thick lamppost with the ease only Kenji can achieve.

With a roar, he swings it like a baseball bat towards a smaller figure in black, who ducks before jumping with agile fluidity onto the hood of a nearby car.

The force of the blow sends a gust of powerful wind that pulls against Atsushi’s hair and clothes.

“IZAYAAAAAAA!” the blond bartender bellows loud enough to almost rattle the ground and Atsushi hadn’t thought it possible to pack so much fury in one word alone.

“How scary, Shizu-chan! Did Ikebukuro run out of things to destroy? Do you feel the need to ruin this city too? What’s next, hmm?”

“I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!”

The bartender heaves the lamppost over his head and brings it down with enough force to flatten the car the man in black was standing on with a shatter of glass and a crunch of metal. A snarl of sheer bloodlust overtakes the bartender’s features as the man in black dances away with a laugh.

“Kyouka-chan!”

Kyouka speeds towards the man in black while Atsushi runs towards the blond, the nerves of his limbs throbbing with mild pain as they bulge into those of a tiger’s.

“Stop!”

He lands on the lamppost and crouches on all fours, teeth bared as he stares down the bartender, claws digging into the metal and his legs knotting in preparation to pounce.

He expects the man to attack or ignore him and lift his absurd weapon anyway.

Instead, the bartender gapes at him, the ferocious danger that twists his expression in a primal anger Atsushi has only ever seen on Akutagawa loosens so abruptly that it sucks all the bravado from his chest and leaves him so off balance that for a moment, he thought he’d fallen off the lamppost.

“What the f—” The bartender bites his lip. It’s hard to tell through the sunglasses he’s wearing, but Atsushi is pretty sure he’s staring at his tiger limbs.

He shifts around, kneading his claws into the pole before realizing what he’s doing and stopping, the scrutiny prickling along his neck and down his back.

“Um…”

He didn’t expect this to end so easily and he flounders for what to do next.

They stare at each other.

“Hey, get down from there,” the bartender finally grunts.

Atsushi blinks.

“H-huh?”

The bartender nods at the pole still in his hands then looks pointedly at him.

“Oh.”

Atsushi gingerly gets off, white and black fur receding into smooth skin as bone and muscles rearrange themselves.

The bartender drops the pole onto the asphalt with a thunk that reverberates briefly through the metal like a tuning fork before walking to a car resting on its side and leaning against its undercarriage.

He withdraws a pack of cigarettes from his vest, takes out a cigarette, returns the pack into its pocket, and lights it. He takes a long drag and blows out smoke.

Atsushi still doesn’t know what to do. The man is strangely calm compared to earlier. It’s a bit unsettling. Should he turn him over to the police?

“Hey.”

Atsushi snaps to attention instinctively at the gruff tone. Something about it demands attention.

“Yes!”

“You usually run _towards_ places that’re clearly dangerous?” The bartender gestures with his cigarette at the scene of devastation that scars the street. “You a thrill-seeker or something?”

“Um… no,” Atsushi says slowly. “I wanted to make sure people aren’t caught up in this and it’s… _sort of_ my job to protect the city? So...”

The bartender snorts, resting a hand in the crook of the arm holding his cigarette.

“A kid like you is a cop?”

“No, I’m part of the Armed Detective Agency. It’s different,” Atsushi corrects, crossing his arms with a frown he’s sure looks more like a pout.

The cigarette pauses halfway to the man’s mouth.

“A detective agency?” He rolls the cigarette between his fingers before nodding and straightening. “Good timing. I could use something like that.”

Atsushi reels back.

“Eeeh? Seriously?”

How does this man keep pulling the rug from under him?

A soft hand encircles his wrist and he looks over to Kyouka, back by his side, staring intently at the bartender with narrowed eyes. Does she distrust him? He doesn’t blame her. He’s pretty suspicious of him too beneath the surprise this man keeps layering on him, but if he’s going to be a problem, won’t the best place to take him be the Agency where they’re equipped to handle someone like him?

“Friend of yours?” the man asks.

“Ah, yeah.” He turns to Kyouka with a reassuring smile. “It’ll be okay, Kyouka-chan. I’m sure everyone at the Agency will figure this out.”

Kyouka purses her lips and her eyes slide to the man. After several moments, she squeezes his wrist before slowly letting go and it’s a clear message that while she disagrees, she’ll trust him.

“Thanks,” Atsushi says warmly before turning to the strange man. “Alright, we’ll take you there.”


	4. Nakahara Chuuya

“Oi, pick up the slack. I don’t—” Chuuya yawns, jaw cracking “—I don’t want to be here all morning.”

From where he slouches on a crate, he flicks his hand up at the boxes in the back of one of the trucks, making them weightless so his subordinates can push them onto a waiting trolley to wheel into the warehouse.

“I think you have it the easiest, boss,” Tsuchi quips from somewhere in the back.

“Yeah? You wanna stay up all night doing escort? I’ll remember to pencil you in on the roster and you can do it for me next time,” he retorts.

“Aw, c’mon boss. No one can do escort better than you!”

“Tsuchi, shut up and work!” Haramura’s rebuke is accompanied by a whine of pain.

“Senpai, don’t hit me!”

A smattering of laughter and jeers follow the exclamation, drifting along the air of the pleasant weather.

Chuuya chuckles and shakes his head at their antics, but his good mood strips away faster than Tsuchi can strip meat off a leg bone when he catches sight of Kanzaki heading his way with slow steps.

He does a double take before launching off his seat, shedding off all his drowsiness to replace it with a squeeze in his ribcage and a burning in his stomach that makes his fists ball.

“What the _hell_ happened to _you?_ ” he almost demands as he goes over, sight trailing along the bandages wrapped around Kanzaki’s head, down to the cotton pad round with the swelling in his left cheek, all the way to the stiff way he holds his right arm.

“Long story, my fucking cousin. Short story, a blond guy in a bartender outfit,” Kanzaki grumbles.

Chuuya shoves him towards his vacated spot and pushes him to sit. He stands over him, hands going to his hips.

“You should’ve called! Hell, you shouldn’t have even come in today!”

“Knew you’d be tired from escort. Didn’t want to bother.” He raises his hand as Chuuya opens his mouth. “Besides, it was over too quick to call for help.”

Chuuya curls his lips with a scowl.

“So? What happened?”

Kanzaki sighs and shifts his legs around to get comfortable.

“My dumbass cousin from Ikebukuro came to me a few days ago babbling something about debts and getting killed and whatever. He was real shaken up, so I let him stay and he ends up bumming with me for three days.” His forehead wrinkles and he mutters something under his breath, hand flexing on his knee. “Now this morning, a blond bartender guy comes up to my door looking for him and well, Itou is an idiot, but he’s still family, so I try scaring him away with my gun, get him to back off. This is what he did to it.”

From the pocket of his suit, Kanzaki takes out a wad of metal and hands it over.

Chuuya takes it and examines it. There are parallel furrows on its surface that look like imprints of fingers.

“Shit, he did this?” he asks, tossing it back.

Kanzaki catches it and sets it beside him.

“Yeah, then he ripped my door out and threw it at me before throwing _me,_ ” he grunts.

“Let me help take care of this,” Chuuya growls. How dare someone lay a hand on one of his men?

Kanzaki stands and pats his shoulder.

“I know you mean well, but this is a family thing. Itou was stupid for borrowing from loan sharks and I’m going to kill him for not telling me about the guy after his ass.”

Chuuya’s forehead feels tight enough to give him a headache with how hard he’s scowling and it doesn’t help that he’s still kind of tired.

“No. This guy’s an Ability-user. You’d get creamed unless you have the money to cover your cousin’s debt. How much does he owe anyway?”

“Too fucking much,” Kanzaki mutters darkly.

“Then let me handle this,” Chuuya says firmly. “I’ll work something out for you.” Kanzaki still looks reluctant and he presses, “Look, this guy’s persistent enough to chase your cousin all the way here. He’s not going to stop until he either gets the money or your cousin dies and then _you_ get the joy of his debts. You know how this works. You also know how this’ll end.”

Kanzaki looks away and rubs his stiff arm. After a long moment, he sighs and nods.

“Yeah, you know what? I think that’d be best.” He meets Chuuya’s eyes again and the corner of his lips quirk up apologetically. “Sorry for the trouble, even though you’re my boss and it’s _my_ stupid cousin who landed in this mess in the first place.”

Chuuya waves it away with a smirk.

“Don’t mention it. You can pay me back by supervising and letting me off. I still gotta report in to _my_ boss.”

“Alright then, you have a deal,” Kanzaki chuckles. “Have fun with the big boss.”

After a round of farewells to his subordinates, Chuuya leaves and rides his bike to headquarters.

He takes the elevator and rubs his face on the ride up in the hopes it’d somehow wipe away any signs of tiredness from his appearance so he’d look at least somewhat presentable. He finishes combing his hair and has just replaced his hat when the elevator dings and opens.

In the dim light, Chuuya can make out another figure walking towards him in the hallway, though the dark clothing they wear makes it hard to pick out much about them from this distance.

Cheerful humming echoing along the severe walls reaches Chuuya’s ears as they draw closer to each other. It raises the hair on the back of his neck. What the hell?

The figure turns out to be a guy wearing all black with his hands in the pockets of his fur-lined coat.

He smiles at him as they pass, perfectly pleasant. It’s so slimy, Chuuya almost shudders. It feels too unfortunately familiar. He can’t help the way his face contorts.

The guy’s shoulders shake in laughter, like his hostility is somehow _funny_ and the muscle of his thigh twitches with the desire to whip around and kick him in the face.

What is _wrong_ with that guy?

Chuuya stomps the rest of the way to the office.

“Ah, Chuuya-kun! How good to see you! I assume the escort went smoothly?” Mori greets with a beam once Chuuya enters the room.

“Yeah, went without a hitch, but we should really find out who stole our last goods; the bastard might try again some other time,” Chuuya growls, walking up to the large desk.

“I’m already working on that,” Mori replies calmly. “I just met with someone who can help.”

Chuuya throws a thumb over his shoulder, brows shooting up his forehead.

“Seriously? That guy who just left?" He crosses his arms with a scowl. "Who is he anyway?”

Mori’s smile shifts subtly into something thinner and there’s a hard, interested glint in his eyes that somehow brings up an image of a viper in his head.

“Orihara Izaya, an information dealer from Shinjuku, but his network extends all the way to Ikebukuro.”

“Ikebukuro again,” Chuuya mutters.

“What was that?”

“Uh, nothing. I just passed him. He’s really…”

Weird? Annoying? Creepy? How’s he supposed to express any of this when they didn’t even exchange hellos?

“I don’t know. There’s something off about him. I don’t like it,” Chuuya finishes lamely instead with a grimace. “Why can’t we just use one of our guys?”

“Because our contacts have consistently mentioned Orihara-kun. It seems he has his hands everywhere. You’ll have to forgive me for being a little curious.”

If Mori’s curious then…

“You think he has something to do with the disappearance?” Chuuya asks, shifting in spot. If he hurries, he can catch up to the dirtbag and drag him back for questioning.

Mori only shrugs and sits back in his chair.

“Who can know? It’s too early to tell. In any case, for now, we need his cooperation and he’s a guest to Yokohama under our protection. Lend your aid if he needs it but do keep an eye on his activities whenever you can.”

“Yes, sir,” Mori doesn’t need to tell him to watch that guy. He’ll be trouble. Chuuya can feel it in his bones. “Um, boss?”

“Hm?”

“Do you mind if I took the rest of the day off? There’s someone I need to find and settle things with.”


	5. Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

There are flashing lights from police cars and a crowd of gawking bystanders crowding the road up ahead blocking their way and Akutagawa frowns before stifling a cough in his hand.

“What’s this commotion?” Higuchi murmurs from beside him.

Akutagawa doesn’t care. They should leave before any of the police spots them. He’s not in the mood for confrontations with them.

He turns away and backtracks to an alleyway they passed earlier. He enters. Higuchi follows.

They walk in silence, taking routes running parallel to the blocked street whenever they can.

They’re about halfway through when they encounter another person leaning against the wall with a cell phone in hand, which he puts away when he spots them.

Akutagawa tenses and Rashoumon stirs by his feet.

“Oya? I didn’t expect meeting anyone here,” the man in the black jacket says with a grin.

Thin, pale, unfamiliar face; not worth his time.

Rashoumon settles and Akutagawa moves on his way.

“Hmm, not even worth your attention, huh?” the man chuckles as Akutagawa passes him, Higuchi moving stiffly behind him. “That’s too bad, Port Mafia.”

Rashoumon strikes in a deafening crumble of brick.

The man glances at his near-death an inch from his head and gives an impressed whistle, grin widening and his casual stance unchanged. Akutagawa can commend him for not running away sniveling, but that is all.

“How scary.”

“What is it you want?” Akutagawa growls.

No man willingly approaches Port Mafia knowing who they are unless they desire something.

The man shrugs.

“Nothing, I was just passing by. Who would’ve thought I’d run into two agents of the mafia?”

Akutagawa scowls and retracts Rashoumon. A waste of time. He moves on. Higuchi hesitates before following his cue.

A chuckle drifts from behind, faintly mocking but mostly amused. It grates down his chest and starts to smolder in his sternum.

“But you seem to have a lot of free time for an organization that owns almost an entire city,” the man says throwing his arms out in a careless shrug. “Bored? Or maybe you just don’t have anything to do.”

Akutagawa’s hand twitches and he grinds his teeth hard enough to make his jaw creak.

Higuchi whips out a gun and points it at the man.

“State your business or leave,” she demands coolly, voice ringing slightly in the narrow space.

The man raises his hands, but his infuriating grin remains. Akutagawa wants to turn it into a smear against the wall. His fingers curl into fists instead.

“Alright, I’ll leave, but if you don’t have anything to do, why not find the initiative to start on something yourself?” the man questions. “Unless, of course, you can’t even do _that,_ but I suppose there is some peace to being a mindless beast.” He brings a hand to his mouth and snickers to himself like it’s a private joke before waving with a gratingly cheery, “Bye!”

He strolls away, not once turning to watch his back.

Akutagawa wants to run him through from behind, show him what happens if you let your guard down around him. He coughs harshly into a trembling hand. His body burns and Rashoumon writhes, twisting shadows of knives and daggers.

What is the merit of allowing such a man to live? He still doesn’t understand what the man-tiger means for him to see when he laid his challenge, but surely it isn’t to be mocked by a stranger.

“Senpai?” Higuchi probes hesitantly.

“Higuchi, we will investigate this incident,” he states, heading to the nearest passage out of the alleyway.

“Sir?”

Akutagawa continues on and light footsteps eventually hasten to follow.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand… This isn’t part of our job…” Higuchi trails off, pursing her lips. She does understand so he doesn’t answer; what’s the merit of a fangless dog?

 _Useless_ flares in his chest and burns his heart.

There’s another crowd on the other end of the street and Higuchi approaches it while Akutagawa hangs behind, hidden behind a corner to wait for her. Several minutes later, she returns with pinched brows.

“From what I gather, this appears to be the work of an Ability-user with super strength, but people are less clear about the description of who was responsible. Some say it was a blonde bartender and other people were sure it’s someone in black.”

Akutagawa’s eyes narrow. Black… Coincidence? No, that man talked like he knew something.

“Higuchi, we’re going back to find that man.”

“Yes!”

They swiftly backtrack, following the route the man most likely went. As they exit the alleyway, they split up to search. He couldn’t have gone far.


	6. Kunikida Doppo

“So you brought him here instead.”

Atsushi rubs the back of his neck sheepishly as he answers, “Well, I thought we can handle him better than the police so…”

Kunikida heaves a heavy sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose to ward off the start of an impending headache. Atsushi wilts while Kyouka stands calmly still save the hand patting the brat’s back, perfectly accepting of Kunikida’s annoyance with a poise he doesn’t know whether to be exasperated with or impressed by.

They’ve only just gotten a call to investigate an incident involving a destructive Ability-user when Atsushi walked right in with the culprit himself in tow.

“You should’ve called us to come to you. How can you know he won’t take you by surprise when your guard is down or run while you were bringing him here?”

“I’m sorry,” Atsushi replies dejectedly.

“Remember it next time, brat.”

Satisfied he won’t make the same mistake again, Kunikida cuts his gaze to the tall blonde man—Heiwajima Shizuo as he’d introduced—standing behind Atsushi dressed in a bartending outfit, strangely enough.

“And? What business can someone who’s just destroyed an entire street have with us?”

Heiwajima’s mouth pulls down half a second before he opens it but then closes it again. He works his jaw and answers slowly, “I’m looking for someone.”

“The person you were fighting?”

Heiwajima scowls, the heavy lines of his animosity scribbling out his otherwise calm features and Kunikida can easily glimpse the man who can demolish part of the city as easily as if it was paper.

“The flea’s a different thing.” The scowl smooths out and he reaches towards his pocket with the rectangular bulge only to stop and awkwardly lower his arm again. “I’m looking for someone named Tanaki Itou. He owes money.”

“Owes money,” Kunikida repeats, folding his arms. Not owes _me_ money, but “owes money”. Suspicious. “To who?”

“My employer.”

“You work for a loan shark?” His voice pitches up in incredulity. Is a collector seriously coming to a detective agency to look for one of their debtors? He’s speechless.

“Um… so… what’ll you do if you find that person?” Atsushi asks a bit nervously.

The scowl comes back.

“Drag his ass back to Ikebukuro and make him pay his debt of course!”

Kunikida snaps out of his incredulity. He needs to focus.

“So you’re not from this city.”

“No.”

“You’ll leave once you find him?”

“Yeah. There’s nothing to hang around here for,” Heiwajima says with a shrug.

Kunikida purses his lips. While he loathes working for anyone affiliated with a loan shark, it’d be in their best interests to get such a dangerous man out of Yokohama as soon as possible. With such a temper as the glimpses Kunikida is seeing, he’s like a lit match next to a powder keg.

“Very well, we’ll cooperate but only on the condition that at least one of us accompanies you at all times. Dazai—” He looks around only to remember his good-for-nothing partner bummed off somewhere earlier and never came back. His mood sours. “Tch, that guy... Kenji!”

Kenji’s head pops up from his avid concentration on the scrunched up paper crane on his desk and he prances over.

“Yes, yes!  You called?”

Kunikida nods his head towards the small group.

“Go with them. Make sure to stop Heiwajima if he goes out of control.”

Although whether that’ll _prevent_ damage is debatable.

 “Will do!” Kenji turns to Heiwajima with a bright smile. “Miyazawa Kenji, at your service!”

Heiwajima stares at Kenji in what looks like confusion before he replies, “Heiwajima Shizuo.”

“Eh? But what about the cat?” Atsushi asks turning wide eyes to Kunikida.

“You can look for it another day,” Kunikida answers. “For now, getting him out of the city as fast as possible is our priority.”

“Okay…”

Turning his attention to Heiwajima, he asks, “So? Do you have any leads?”

“I checked his cousin’s house earlier, but he wasn’t there and I can’t really wait around to find out if he skipped or not. I don’t really have a place to stay for the night.”

“You’re telling me that we only have one day to find this person,” Kunikida says, flat. He pushes his glasses up in lieu of rubbing his temples. He shakes his head. Unbelievable. At least the man has the sense to hunch slightly, awkward.

“Sorry,” Heiwajima apologizes, shifting his weight. “And about payment…”

“Let me guess. You have nothing to give us,” Kunikida states, suddenly tired.

“That’s not it exactly… I have some money, just not a lot,” Heiwajima mumbles, scratching the back of his head and looking towards the floor.

“… Let’s discuss that at a later time. For now, let’s focus on finding that man.”

They aren’t a charity after all, but paid or not, this man must leave Yokohama. They may be able to arrange something like a favor. It could come in handy in the future.

Atsushi shoots him a dismayed look, but clumsy and untried as the brat is, he’s reliable and he can be fairly clever if he concedes to using his brain every once in a while. Besides, he can’t expect to work at a detective agency without actual detective skills. This will be a good learning experience for him.

“Do your best before the time limit,” is all Kunikida says and Atsushi slumps.

“Yes, sir…”

“Well then, let’s go!” Kenji exclaims, pumping a fist into the air.

“But where would we even start?” Atsushi asks, already sounding like he’s given up. Kyouka glances at Kenji with curiosity written on her expression.

“Why don’t we just ask where he is?” Kenji replies, marching towards the door.

Atsushi rubs the back of his neck but nonetheless follows.

“I guess, but that’s kind of…”

Kyouka trails after him. Heiwajima hesitates for a while longer before nodding at Kunikida and leaving as well, closing the door behind him.

Kunikida hopes things work out, but in the meantime...

He takes out his cell, scowling as he jabs the button for speed dial to the bandage factory slacker and bringing it to his ear. His foot taps against the polished floor as it rings.

Where the hell is he?


	7. Dazai Osamu

As always, the train station is crowded. The flow of people carries him along like a river, suffusing him with the white noise of the crowd. But despite his propensity for suicide, his target isn’t the tracks. Sadly, it’d inconvenience too many people to make the trains late, so no matter how swift the death, he’d crossed it off his list ages ago. No, his target is someone who should be here right around now…

He wanders around the station before settling near the exit to wait, leaning against the wall.

It takes a while of waiting, but he finally catches a glimpse of wavy mousy hair under a powder pink beret on the head of a young woman with foreign features. She’s heading slowly outside, glancing occasionally at her cell phone.

He waltzes over and greets her with a, “Hello there. Lee-san, I presume?”

The woman swivels to him, startled, and blinks up at him before doing a double take.

Dazai puts on his friendliest smile and ignores her stare.

“I’m Dazai Osamu, a member of the detective agency your friend, Shiraki Minako, employed to find you.”

The mention of Minako widens the woman’s eyes, which gain a faint wet sheen. She turns away.

“Oh… Minsy…”

It’s a strange reaction, but it’s to be expected if he’d lined the pieces up together correctly.

“So, why did you leave without notice in the first place?”

Harper Lee purses her lips and blinks rapidly.

“Why do you want to know?” She jerks around to face him with narrowed eyes, hands clenched in her skirt the same color as her beret. “W-who _are_ you? No, _what_ are you? Why can’t I…”

Dazai can’t help but laugh at the way she reminds him of a puffed-up kitten. Her face only has enough time to flicker with indignity before he says, “No, sorry, I’m not laughing at you. It’s just that of course you can’t see my best potential. My own Ability nullifies all others, including yours. To Save a Mockingbird, was it?”

“Oh.” Harper deflates. “I suppose…that’s the only explanation that makes sense…” She doesn’t sound entirely convinced, but the fact Dazai knows her friend and her Ability is probably enough to keep her from pursuing the topic. It’s still awfully careless of her. “But it’s still none of your business why I left,” she continues with a stubborn set in her features.

Dazai hums a taps a finger to his chin.

He leans closer and in a low voice says, “Could it have something to do with Shiraki-san’s abusive lover?”

Harper freezes like a deer caught in headlights. Her mouth moves but no sound comes out. She covers it with a hand and mumbles, “Y-you know? How? She couldn’t have told you. She’s always so careful…”

Her voice hitches at the last sentence.

Dazai straightens up.

“Shiraki-san was indeed careful, but wounds cannot always be perfectly hidden.”

For a brief second, Harper’s eyes flicker to the bandages on his arms then as though catching herself, she pointedly glances elsewhere. Dazai grins.

“When she picked up her teacup, it shook quite badly, as though she was either too nervous or too weak to lift it. It could be a bit of both considering how she kept looking at the door as though she was afraid someone would barge in at any second. Afterwards, she adjusted her long sleeves and didn’t try to pick up the cup again, but I couldn’t be sure about the abuse until you confirmed it.”

There’s a long silence as Harper worries her lip before she sighs and hugs herself as though she‘s cold, saying quietly, “I suppose you wouldn’t be a detective if you couldn’t figure it out, but so what?”

“Shiraki-san risked a lot coming to a detective agency to find you,” Dazai says, sliding his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels until he balances precariously on them, “and judging from your earlier reaction, leaving her couldn’t be a light decision. I can only think that you’re doing it for her.”

Harper worries her lip again, eyes trailing along the ground.

“If…” She hesitates then pushes on slowly, “If I tell you… will you help me?”

“That depends. With what?”

“I met some friends online who live in Ikebukuro. They told me about a conniving and manipulative man who nonetheless knows the human heart better than anyone. I grew interested, so I decided to go to Ikebukuro to learn more and maybe meet him. I managed to finally contact him and he invited me to meet him back here.” Harper fiddles with the edge of her gray coat. “I’m, um…” She licks her lips then says slowly, “I know I tend to trust people too easily, and if what people say about this man is true, then I’m afraid he might use me somehow. At least, that’s what my new friends warned me…”

Dazai folds his arms over his chest and leans just a little closer, intrigue sparking.

“So you want me to help spot you.”

Harper nods.

“But why do you want to meet him in the first place?” Dazai asks.

Harper inhales deeply, fingers gripping the strap of her purse tightly.

“I want to see if he’ll know how to change Minsy’s boyfriend, or at least to get him to stop. I just don’t understand it.” Her eyes turn glassy again and she blinks. “He was so good, his best self, when I first met him. I don’t understand why or how he became like this.” She turns a half defiant half pleading look to him. “If you can be the best person you can be, why _wouldn’t_ you want to be that kind of person?”

Golden sunset and red hair; the taste of salt and the smell of iron mixed with cigarette smoke make the acid in his throat and the burn in his heart stronger.

Dazai closes his eyes and breathes out the phantom scent from his lungs. When he opens them, he says, “Very well, I’ll help you.”

Harper’s smile lights up her entire face.

“Really?”

Dazai smiles in turn, but it’s as empty as his gut. Harper doesn’t notice.

“Of course. My job isn’t finished until I bring you to Shiraki-san, and you’re obviously not going anywhere before meeting this man. But should you really trust _me_ for this?” he only half teases.

For a moment, Harper simply stares at him as though that hadn’t even occurred to her before her smile turns wry. There’s some bitterness there.

“Maybe not, but since I can’t see _your_ best self, at least I won’t be disappointed if you betray me, right?”


End file.
